Kindness in times of darkness
by RainbowSquee
Summary: An canon-era AU fic that loosely follows the plot to 5x10, but with alot more whump and mordred and knights. When Merlin disappears during the night, Arthur doesn't worry too much. But when they find his blood in the middle of the woods, with a sorceress loose, he realises that things could be so much worse. SPOILERS FOR 5X10, whump, angst, no slash.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is a fic loosely based on 5x10. **

**SPOILERS FOR 5X10 OKAY DONT'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU. **

**I say loosely because it follows it slightly, but has a lot more whump, and extra Mordred and knights and bromance.**

**Enjoy, and review please~~**

* * *

_An old sorceress pledges her allegiance to Merlin, promising information that will help him in the dark times to come. But when Morgana finds out that this woman knows who Emrys really is, she plans to kidnap her. Merlin and Finna escape, but not before Merlin is shot in the side by a crossbow. And Arthur is just innocently pratrolling the woods, oblivious to Merlin's plight..._

* * *

"Emrys, I can't heal you." Finna's concerned voice broke through the haze of pain but, oddly, he couldn't see her. Dimly, Merlin remembered that sound was meant to come with pictures and not just darkness. Struggling to sit up, he opened his eyes. He wasn't aware he'd closed them. "With power like yours, can you not, forgive me, heal yourself?"

Merlin tilted his head back until he was looking at the sky. The place in his side where the arrow had entered was pulsating angrily, blood slowly soaking into the torn fabric of his tunic, and with each wave of pain came another wave of nausea. The sky seemed dimmer than he remembered.

"I never was much good at healing," he admitted, his breathing ragged, "Maybe if it was Arthur or –" He hissed, knuckles white around the hilt of the sword he clutched, " –someone else, it would be fine. But I could never get it to work on me." He looked up at the old woman who believed so wholly in him, and shrugged apologetically, wincing as he did so. "I'm sorry that I'm not what you were expecting."

She simply stared at him for a moment, then reached forwards, placing her hand on top of where he was trying (rather unsuccessfully) to keep his lifeblood inside him. He could feel her magic pulsating around the wound, trying to knit the skin together, replace what was lost, but there was something lacking. He could only guess that Morgana had tinted those arrows with magic herself, to stop her victims from healing themselves. So that she could watch the sorcerer of her choosing slowly bleed to death.

Finna sighed, as she came to the same conclusion.

"You are only human, Great One, and, forgive me, but you are still so young. You have a good heart. There is not fault in that."

Their eyes locked and there was something more than pity in them, something that suggested that she understood at least a small part of the burden he bore. For some reason, it reminded him of home.

There was a rustle in the leaves behind them, and they both froze.

_Not Morgana, _Merlin begged silently, _not now._

After a few moments, still nothing had happened. No attack, no magic. Looking furtively around her, Finna unceremoniously pulled Merlin to his feet, surprisingly strong for someone who looked so frail. He couldn't supress a cry as pain blazed through his abdomen, causing him to pitch forwards as his body doubled up in a desperate attempt to get it to stop. He leant on his sword, panting slightly.

"How much … further?"

Finna knew the wound was deep, but there was nothing she could do - it would be suicide to stay here. "Morgana will be coming after us," she said eventually, "I am sorry, but if we could just get to the abandoned tower on the other side of the valley, we could hide until it's all over, until it's safe."

Merlin said nothing, just nodded. His eyes were closed again, and he was finding it harder to keep them open. Grasping the sword hilt, he drew in a deep steadying breath.

"Emrys, will you be alright?" It was a stupid question, she knew, but she couldn't help it. Hissing slightly, Merlin straightened up, arm tightening around his injured side. His face was pale, but etched with determination.

"We need to keep going."

And he started walking.

* * *

Mordred knew he was going to get in trouble with Arthur for letting Merlin go. He knew that. But, equally, he knew that what Merlin was planning must be important if he was willing to risk not only his life, but Arthur's wrath.

He just wished that, for once, he hadn't been the only one to notice.

"Where's Merlin?"

Mordred splashed the river water over his face, shivering slightly at how cold it was. He could picture it now, Leon waking up and finding Merlin gone, then Arthur springing up, and Gwaine, then Percival –

He sighed.

The question was repeated, and another shout rang through the trees. "Merlin?"

Reluctantly, Mordred realised that his own absence would not go unnoticed for much longer. Trying to look completely oblivious, he returned to the group to find Arthur pacing angrily up and down.

"Sire, he's not in the area," Leon confirmed, voice low. "You don't think he could have been –"

"No." Arthur's answer was short and left no room for argument. "What I think Merlin has done," the King continued angrily, in that voice that he only ever reserved for when Merlin was being particularly infuriating, "is that he has, for whatever reason, decided to run off back to wherever he was going before. Despite my explicit orders not to. Despite knowing that there is a dangerous sorcerer in these woods who would not hesitate in killing him." His voice had risen to an infuriated growl, his fingers flexing around the hilt of his sword. "Sometimes I think that man sticks around just so that he can disobey my orders."

"He doesn't." The words fell out of Mordred's mouth before he could stop them. All eyes turned on him, and Mordred felt his face flush. Just slightly. "What I mean, Sire – " He stepped forwards, head bowed in apology, " –is that I accompanied Merlin out of the forest earlier, before first light." He sounded so humble, so tentative, that for a moment all the fight left Arthur as he stared at his newest knight in incomprehension.

"You did what?"

"I heard noises in the night, and when I woke up , Merlin was trying to leave. I told him not to, that you wouldn't allow it, but he didn't care. He said he needed to get back to the castle urgently."

"And you didn't try to stop him?"

"He said he would go regardless. What was I meant to do? Draw my sword on him? He's an unarmed servant – I couldn't do that."

Arthur conceded the man had a point.

"And you just let him go?" Gwaine's voice came angrily from somewhere behind Leon's shoulder. Mordred could feel the hostility towards him building.

"No!" He said it with as much incredulity as he could muster. "I wouldn't leave him undefended like that. I accompanied him to the bridge, where I knew he would be safe to make his own way back, and then returned here."

He hoped that what Merlin was doing was worth it.

"I am sorry, Sire," he said, hanging his head, "But I would rather have accompanied him safely than let him roam on his own. Or keep him here against his will."

Arthur studied the man, so young and inexperienced, yet so full of promise. Mordred's actions reminded him of Merlin's misguided attempts, in a way. He placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring.

"I forgive you, Mordred." He gave the knight a wry smile. "But next time, do not disobey my orders. And," he added, as an afterthought, "It would do you well not to be beguiled by Merlin again."

Mordred couldn't tell if Arthur was joking or not.

* * *

"Morgana is at the bottom of the tower, we need to move faster!"

Merlin could barely make it up the first flight of stairs.

"You need to get to the top – you'll be safe there."

His foot caught the edge of uneven stone and he struggled to catch his balance. Instead of falling backwards, he managed to orchestrate it so that he fell forwards, stars exploding in front of his vision as his head connected painfully with the wall and –

Merlin let out a cry of agony as he fell onto his wound, body crumpling into a heap on the cold steps. His vision blurred as he struggled to know anything but pain.

"Emrys!"

Desperately, he tried to straighten up, using his sword as a support. He hadn't even got halfway up before his legs gave out and everything dimmed for a moment.

_Oh gods, _he panicked, _I can't do this._

He bit his tongue, silencing the whimpers building at the back of his throat, and pushed himself back up. The same thing happened again. Growling now, he put all of his weight onto the sword and violently threw himself forwards. The pain was white hot, but he was on his feet.

Panting, he cast a glance behind him. Finna's expression was unreadable. "I have a confession."

The words were all too familiar. _This is it, _Merlin thought, _this is the part where she betrays me. _He was too weary to care.

"It is my fault that you are like this. I cannot let Morgana find you, nor let you die." She moved towards him, placing her arms around his shoulders. "I know you trust your King with your life, no matter how much I do not."

Letting him lean on her, they slowly made their way up the rest of the stairwell, the pounding of feet disturbingly loud on the floor below.

"I left clues for your King – a trail to find you by after Morgana has left. He's the only one who can save you now."


	2. Chapter 2

**I really wanted to have more whump, but unfortunately there's this thing called 'plot' which gets in the way. Oh well. More for the next chapter.**

**Mordred is such an interesting character - especially in the show, I can't quite tell where his allegiances lie. But, hey, that's for this week's episode.**

**Enjoy, and review!**

* * *

"The sorcerer was here."

Arthur had to admit it, Mordred was very good at tracking. Young he may be, but even Arthur couldn't deny the fact that they would have lost the trail ages ago had it not been for Mordred's keen eyesight. So much so, that the flash of anger he had felt when he first found out that Mordred had let Merlin go had faded from his mind. Almost.

He nodded at the young knight. "Be on your guard, everyone. They could still be here. "

The blackened remains of a fire lay towards the centre of the clearing, long since burnt out. It was obvious that if anyone was here, they had disappeared ages ago.

"Spread out," Arthur murmured, gesturing with his hand, "Look for where the trail leads."

They hadn't got very far when they began to find evidence of what they were searching for.

"Sire!" A body lay at the foot of a tree, a deep groove prescribed in the ground from where it had been thrown backwards. Another lay slightly to their right, in a similar state. Percival, crouched down next to the first of the fallen bodies, confirmed Arthur's suspicions.

"They're Saxons, Sire."

Mordred looked at Arthur in confusion. "Saxons? What are Saxons doing so close to the border?" Arthur's mouth had hardened into a firm line, hand tight on the hilt of his sword.

It was Morgana, it had to be. Only she would have the cheek, or the ability, to rally the Saxons.

"Keep searching," he said finally, ignoring the question. There was a bigger one to be answered.

Mordred quietly went back to scanning the area, his heart pounding. There was no mistaking the fact that Merlin had been going this way when Mordred had let him go last night. What if he'd met the sorcerer? What if the sorcerer had been Morgana? What if –

No. Mordred shook his head, trying to clear it from his mind. He of all people knew that Merlin was capable of taking care of himself. He had to have faith in him. Trying to distract himself, he picked up an abandoned arrowhead, inspecting the tip. He hadn't realised it was covered in blood.

"It's enchanted," he murmured, almost to himself, "So that the wound is immune to magic." The realisation settled badly in his stomach.

He hadn't realised that he'd spoken aloud until he felt Arthur shift uncomfortably beside him. "Whoever led that ambush knew what they were doing."

The footprints led towards the west. "There's two of them," Mordred pointed out, his voice low. "It looks like one of them is injured, judging by the way they were dragging feet."

"Yes, thank you Mordred," Arthur said irritably, "I can see that." He paused, looking back the way they had come. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong here, but he didn't quite know why. Not for the first time, he was glad that Merlin was safe back in Camelot. "It looks like the sorcerer – and their accomplice – were ambushed by Saxons who had very specific orders. Someone other than us has been looking for them."

There was a sinking feeling in his gut. This whole thing could be a trap – it wouldn't be the first time. Mordred looked up at him, the expression on his face serious. "Sire, you don't think Morgana –?"

"Keep following the trail." Arthur cut him off, his voice grim. "They could have key information."

* * *

Mordred lagged behind the others, scanning the area quietly. He knew Merlin's magic – surrounded, every day, by something so powerful, Mordred couldn't help becoming attuned to it. It was a skill he had learned over the years – by simply just paying attention, eventually he could pick out certain characteristics, colours, smells, when it came to different styles of magic. Merlin's was easy – it was just raw power.

There had been remnants of that magic back in the clearing, covering the bodies, the ground. On the arrow. It would be fair to say that the idea that Merlin was the 'accomplice' was a fair bit more than just a hunch.

He could tell Arthur, of course. But would the man believe him? Probably not. And even if he did, Arthur was going to be livid if he found out that Mordred had lied. If had been about anyone else then it wouldn't be such a problem, but when it came to Merlin, Arthur used a whole different set of rules. Including one that meant he would physically hunt down any man that threatened his servant's life in any way.

Mordred guessed that one would probably stretch to include him.

Clenching his fist, Mordred struggled to keep a straight face. Not for the first time, he felt a wave of frustration at how, once again, Merlin had made things infinitely more complicated for him. Why did Merlin have to be so difficult? He had repeatedly stretched out a hand of friendship to the servant, only to have it refused again and again. There was only so much one man could take.

Something small caught the corner of his eye, pulling him from of his thoughts.

A dragon identical to the one featured on the Pendragon crest had been carved crudely into the base of the trunk, and stank of magic. Mordred knelt down slowly, running a hand over the mutilated bark. This wasn't Merlin's magic, but even so, he knew Merlin had been here.

Mordred glanced up. The others were still thoroughly engrossed in their search, debating whether they should head east or west – something about the mud muddling the footprints.

There had been a similar carving on a tree a few paces back, a large groove in the bark. And then the druid symbol for sanctuary, easily mistaken for a few careless indents left by animals.

It was a message, he realised, a message only for those who were looking for one. He stared at the carving, his breathing quicker. Merlin was asking for help.

There was a rushing in his ears as Mordred considered his options – tell Arthur, or leave Merlin to fend for himself. It wouldn't matter, no one would blame him. Everyone knew how clumsy Merlin was, how easily he could get caught if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Arthur would be sad, but Arthur would move on.

Mordred shifted his weight nervously. Emrys was destined to be their saviour – what if Merlin _did _end up meeting his doom here in this forest? He didn't really want Merlin to die… he was just so tired of Merlin looking at him with such hatred in his eyes.

_You don't trust me Emrys, do you?_

It was only a small movement, easily mistaken for a twitch, but it was enough. There was no dragon any more – just a pile of rotting leaves.

He let out a breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding.

"Have you found something, Mordred?"

Mordred span around far too quickly, a nervous laugh escaping him. "No."

Gwaine looked at him suspiciously, one eyebrow raised. "Really?" He tried to sidestep the younger knight, peering quizzically behind him. "Just an interesting tree then?"

Mordred was very good at harbouring grudges. Now was no exception. Oh, he knew that the knights meant no harm – the 'initiation' of being made to ride backwards on every single patrol until Arthur got bored and told them to pack it in, the way one boot always seemed to go missing after training, the way it always seemed to fall to him to buy the rounds of ale – it was all in good humour. But, if there was one thing that Mordred hated, it was being made feel like a fool.

And this man certainly had a knack for doing that.

He gave Gwaine his best disarming smile. "Can't be too careful." There was something about his eyes, something unsettling that Gwaine couldn't quite put his finger on. A chill ran down his spine as Mordred strode past him, that unnerving smile still plastered to his face. "I need to talk to Arthur. I think I know where they're headed."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thankyou for all the reviews guys! I'm sorry I haven't got around to replying yet, but I will ^^**

**And, ye gods, I am broken after that episode of Merlin yesterday. And the preview for next week - I just can't.**

**But anyway, the next installment!**

**Enjoy, and please review (it means a lot to me) :D**

* * *

Merlin fell against the crates stacked in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. Twisting his body, he let his shoulder rest against the old wood as his head tipped backwards. He didn't have the strength to even attempt to try and stand up.

"Emrys?"

The voice sounded unusually quiet, as if coming from a very long way off. Merlin blinked several times, slightly unnerved by how long it took for his eyes to focus. Finna had her hand on his shoulder.

"Morgana will be upon us soon." Merlin began to mumble something about leaving him, but Finna silenced him with a simple shake of her head. "I have information for you, Emrys. That was the whole point of this meeting – I bear a light in the darkness ahead."

Merlin must have closed his eyes again at some point, because the next thing he knew was a box being pressed into his hand. "Guard it well. It bears the knowledge of us all." Finna guided his hand to his chest, not letting go until she felt Merlin's fingers curl in acknowledgement around it. His face broke out into a slow smile. "Thank you," he breathed. He tried to look down, but every slight movement sent his head spinning. Instead, he ran his thumb along the object, mapping ever indent, every detail. "Thank you."

"Alator also has a message for you." There was a slight catch to her voice as she said his name. "One of great importance."

There was a great clatter of steel and a shout from the floor below. Merlin started, instantly regretting it as a wave of nausea washed over him. The noise was growing louder, fast.

Within seconds, Finna's hands were on his shoulders again, pulling him to his feet. He staggered, only just managing to catch himself. His legs were numb – in fact, his whole body was numb from the waist down, Merlin noted with a detached interest. _When had that happened?_

He didn't know – in fact, the whole ordeal had blurred into one mass of pain and Finna and pushing onwards. Pain had dulled his mind and his senses. One thing he did remember, though, was that numbness usually accompanied a heavy loss of blood, and preceded things far more serious.

Finna's words filtered through the haze as she pushed him towards the next staircase.

"You must not trust the druid boy."

Of course. It would be Mordred, wouldn't it?

"I don't."

* * *

"It's getting dark, Sire. We should probably head back to Camelot soon."

There was truth in Leon's words. To be honest, Arthur would have turned back hours ago, if not for the way that Mordred kept pushing them forwards. He admired the man's determination in finding this sorcerer, but he couldn't help wondering if there was a different reason that Mordred kept furtively wringing his hands like he had some weight on his shoulders that he couldn't get rid of.

"I understand," Arthur acknowledged , "But I –"

"Sire!" Mordred's shout came from the head of the group. "The tower's up ahead." And it was, a great stone spire that rose up out of the trees and cracked the sky like an ugly blade. If a sorcerer was to take refuge anywhere, it would be there.

Leon cocked an eyebrow.

"Mordred," Arthur began, unconsciously cracking his knuckles, "I appreciate how seriously you are taking this … hunt. But there is no guarantee that the sorcerer will be in this tower, and the area could be crawling with Saxons." He paused. "We will go back to Camelot. We've gone far enough."

Mordred's eyes widened slightly. He was still torn – Merlin may not be in the tower, but he might be. If he let Arthur go now, then the slight chance that Emrys really was in the tower meant that the responsibility for the prophecies never being fulfilled would fall on Mordred's shoulders. Did he really want that blood on his hands?

"Sire," Mordred faltered, "Let us at least go into the castle." His eyes pleaded silently at the older man, for some reason Arthur couldn't fathom. "We need somewhere to camp for the night, regardless – if the sorcerer is there, we have them cornered; if it's empty, then we have a highly defensible position. Surely it would waste more time making our way back now, when darkness will soon be upon us?"

There was truth in his words, Arthur conceded. Against his better judgement, he found himself wanting to agree with Mordred's idea – something about the knight's thirst for success, wanting to impress, struck a chord somewhere inside him.

"We carry on," Arthur said finally, sighing slightly, "Then we make camp, and leave at first light. We don't want to stay too long in these parts, not with Morgana on the loose."

Leon followed silently, hand never straying far from his sword.

* * *

"No." Merlin took in a shaky breath, his eyes focussed for the first time. "I am not leaving you here."

Finna smiled, small and resigned. "But you must."

_Not again. Not another. _

"Morgana doesn't know you are here – once she has me, she will give up the search."

"I can't let you do this –"

"I can't let her find you."

Merlin was angry. He shook his head, ignoring how the world turned upside-down. They had almost made it – but, again, Morgana had ripped through that possibility, desperate to claim another innocent life. Everything would have been okay if he she hadn't turned up, thirsty for blood.

_Or if Gaius hadn't told Arthur in the first place. Then we wouldn't have been anywhere near that part of the forest, and I wouldn't have got shot, and – _

Merlin had been a fool to think that everything would have turned out alright.

"It is my destiny to protect you_. _It would be an _honour._"

Moments passed. Morgana's screech floated up the staircase. Merlin couldn't stop shivering.

"I ask but one favour," Finna murmured quietly, still humble, even in the face of such a feat. Her voice held no fear for what was to come. "Lend me your sword."

Merlin let out a long breath. He was too tired.

"Anything." He offered the hilt, her wrinkled hand folding around it as if this had been her intention all along. It probably had.

Her old eyes had seen too much of this world to fear the next life. The smile that she gave him was reassuring and genuine. She motioned at him to leave. Numbly, he obeyed.

The breath stuck in Merlin's throat as he groped for the wall – if he fell over, he wasn't sure he'd have the strength to get up again. After everything, he wasn't sure that he wanted to.

"Emrys?" He turned, his eyes glistening somewhat. Their eyes locked. "It has been a privilege to meet you."

Those words broke something inside, after all the years of insignificance and mistakes and being told he was worthless. He swallowed thickly. "And you."

* * *

They didn't see Morgana's forces until the very last minute. Looking back on it, Arthur couldn't quite work out why – it wasn't like they were distracted, they simply just didn't hear their enemy in the tower until they themselves were standing at the very base of it.

The shout of "take the body, and burn it," was their first clue.

Arthur's eyes bulged in surprise.

"_Fall back!" _ he mouthed angrily, grabbing the back of Mordred's hood and hauling him behind the stone wall. They froze, breathing heavily.

It was Mordred who broke the spell, offering a small, thankful smile. Peering cautiously around the stone, Arthur watched as a handful of men poured out of the entrance, one dragging a limp body, the others grumbling softly to themselves. The woman was old, a lot older than his father had been when he had died, and unmistakably dead.

Arthur couldn't suppress the wave of anger that swept through him. An old woman, defenceless, murdered in cold blood.

Arthur shifted slightly to get a better view.

There was a shout, a glimpse of black, and then Morgana swept out of the doors, anger written all over her face. Although she seemed furious, her voice was low, and Arthur could only catch snippets of her speech.

" – the one person who could tell us the identity of Emrys, and she actually had the cheek to – "

So that old woman was the sorcerer they had been tracking all this time. Unconsciously, he leaned in closer, wanting to hear more. The horses were mounted now, the old woman draped unceremoniously across one like some form of curtain. One arm hung limply from the saddle, as if reaching for some hand that wasn't there. Arthur felt the sudden wave of anger sweep over him again – she may be a sorcerer, but so was Morgana, therefore they had no right to treat her like that. Not in death, and not for someone so old. It was dishonourable.

" – find out who this Emrys actually is, I swear I'll – "

Arthur was so engrossed in his own thoughts, he didn't realise that they were riding towards him until it was too late. Head still poking out from behind the wall, he had perhaps five seconds before Morgana saw him, and everything was over.

He cursed silently.

Then Mordred's hand was on his shoulder pulling him back, slamming him against the wall, and Arthur closed his eyes, blessedly gulping in lungfuls of air. Hooves thundered past, and then there was silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, Arthur dared to move back out into the open.

"All clear." The others emerged from their hiding places, relief plain on their face.

"Well," Gwaine smirked, trying to diffuse the tension on the air, "That was an incredible stroke of luck." No one had to ask what he was referring to, just nodded quietly in agreement. If Morgana had seen them, there was no question that they would not still be standing right now.

Of course, no one else had seen Mordred's eyes glow a dim gold in the darkness, or hear his muttered chant that cloaked their appearance and muffled their sound. So, yes, it was a great deal of luck.

"I did not expect the sorcerer to be some old crone though," Gwaine continued, his voice light. "How she managed to move so fast is beyond me."

Arthur leant on his sword. "We should return to Camelot."

Mordred felt a spike of fear run through him for the first time since they'd seen Morgana. "No!" It came out rather more forcefully than intended.

"Mordred." Arthur had had enough of this. "The sorcerer is dead – that was the whole point of this exercise in the first place, to find them. Morgana is in the area, and Saxons are on the loose. We cannot afford to waste any more time!"

Arthur just could not understand why Mordred was so intent on getting them into that tower.

"What about the accomplice?" Mordred asked, grasping at straws. "There's a high chance they're still alive – Morgana hasn't found them, so they'll be hiding somewhere inside. And they'll have answers!" He needed to know that Merlin wasn't in there, to set his mind at rest.

Arthur looked answered him irritably. "We don't know if they're even in there. For all we know, Morgana's forces could be inside."

"But they would have information, Sire! Information about Morgana, about their plans – we've come so far, it would be foolish to –"

"I said no, Mordred!" Arthur didn't mean to shout, but he was just so frustrated. This whole trip had been for naught, and an army was amassing around his borders, and he didn't know why.

Mordred bowed his head, crushed. "I am sorry Sire. I did not mean to speak out of turn."

This was all his fault.

"If I may, Sire." Sir Leon stepped forwards, his expression unsure. "The trip back will take the good part of a day. There is perhaps an hour of good light left – surely it would be more tactical to stay here, camp in the tower, and set of at first light?"

Mordred cast a thankful glance in the man's direction.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling. If he had known he would get this much trouble about the tower, he would never have agreed to going in the first place.

"Fine," he growled, unsheathing his sword. "Be on your guard." 

_On your heads be it._


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying it! Here's more whump, as promised xD**

**Enjoy, and review!**

* * *

Defeat settled in Merlin's heart as he crawled up stone step after cracked stone step. He could hear nothing now except his own ragged panting and the rushing of blood in his ears. He coughed, an ugly sound that reverberated up the walls. It felt like his ribcage was on fire, terrible after the numbness.

No light streamed through the slits in the stone – night had fallen quickly. Arthur would never find him.

And Mordred –

Hot, angry tears started forming at the corners of his eyes. All those times that Merlin felt guilty as Mordred watched him with hurt eyes, had begun doubting whether Mordred really was as evil as he thought – it was all a lie. Mordred had wormed his way into their hearts, and – lo and behold – was the one person destined to cause Arthur's death. All because Merlin hadn't killed him when he had been given the chance.

Merlin had never hated destiny quite as much as he did now.

He kept breathing in and out, focussing on slowly inching his way higher and higher. With a lot of effort, he managed to secure a hold on the bottom of the half open door marking the top of the final staircase. Pouring all of his strength into his arm, he tried pushing it open.

It didn't move.

Merlin collapsed on the ground, letting out a strangled cry – his side felt as if it had been ripped open, again. He couldn't help the bile that rose to his throat as he saw the tiny trail of red he had left along the stone.

_I can't do this._

He bit back a frustrated curse.

No one had tried to follow him – Finna had obviously played her part well. Another death to add to the rapidly growing tally.

Growling, he bit his lip hard, throwing himself forwards. Everyone died for him – for once, he would like to get at least one thing right. He tasted blood as his shoulder connected with the heavy wood and, little by little, the door relented. Everything was pain and anger and anguish, but it didn't matter because suddenly it was over and he fell, panting, into the cool night air.

_Destiny is a fickle thing._

Spasms attacked his body suddenly, and he shuddered, over and over until he was spent. It could have lasted a minute, it could have lasted a day – he couldn't tell. He didn't have any fight left in him.

* * *

The tower looked as if it hadn't seen use for hundreds of years. Wood was piled in corners, covered in cobwebs, and any furnishings had long since gone. Cold, dark stone was all that was left now.

"Split up," Arthur ordered, sword held aloft. Something was off about this place. "Search for the accomplice, but be on your guard. They could have magic."

Mordred was up the first flight of stairs before Arthur had even finished talking. If he was hiding, he would head upwards – he guessed that's what Merlin would do too, especially in the state he was in. After a brief moment, Gwaine followed suit.

_Emrys. _Mordred called out using his mind, thinking it safer than any other method. _Emrys, are you here?_

His telepathy was weak with disuse - Mordred doubted that it could have penetrated the stone walls that surrounded him, but it told him, at least, that Merlin was not on this floor.

He realised his heart was beating faster. Angrily, he shook himself. _Get a grip._

He let his training take over again – right now, he wasn't a druid, he was a knight of Camelot. Gripping his sword, he took a step forwards, Gwaine right behind him.

"Sure needs a good dust in here," Gwaine muttered, poking at one of the cobwebs with his blade.

Mordred laughed nervously. "I bet Merlin could do wonders in here."

Gwaine snorted. "Oh, he would love to know that's what you think of him."

The room was deserted, of that there was no question. "Up the next flight?" Mordred asked, motioning to the door. He didn't wait for an answer, just kept moving forwards. Nothing here either - up the next flight of stairs. In truth, he completely forgot about Gwaine, he was so engrossed in his own furtive search. That was, until a concerned shout came from somewhere behind him.

"Mordred?"

Ignoring the way his heart had begun to pound in his chest, he slowly walked back through the door. Gwaine was crouched on the stair case, hand on the wall. He turned to the younger knight.

"There's blood here. And, look." He pointed towards where Mordred had come from. "The trail goes up the stairs."

Mordred understood where this was leading. "So they're probably still here."

Gwaine's expression was grim. "Most definitely."

Two pairs of eyes scanned the room. It was like all the others, deserted and dusty – not a thing moved. Except –

Gwaine strode forwards, eyes fixed on something Mordred couldn't see. He knelt down beside a box, pulling out something that lay wedged underneath it.

A sword, covered in blood. The man turned the sword over in his hands, a dark look settling on his face.

"Sire!" Gwaine's voice was hard. "Sire, there's something that you need to see!"

Mordred moved forwards, wanting to know what it was that made Gwaine so angry, but Gwaine stopped him with a dirty look.

Mordred's heart sunk.

"Gwaine, what is it?"

Gwaine didn't speak, just thrust the sword in the King's direction. Arthur ran a finger down the blade, thinking, then suddenly it clicked. Horror flooded his features.

"This is Merlin's." Arthur didn't seem able to believe it, looking at Gwaine for confirmation. "This is Merlin's sword."

The knight growled in agreement.

"What would Merlin's sword be doing here, like this? Unless…"

And then Arthur understood. His eyes lifted, until they were fixed on Mordred's own. Mordred had never seen him look so angry.

"You never did accompany him to the bridge, did you?"

Mordred wanted to retch. "No, Sire," he whispered.

"You let him wander off on his own, didn't you?" Arthur's voice rose. "You let him go, even though you knew there was a dangerous sorcerer in the woods." The man was shaking. "He is not a knight, Mordred, he cannot fight for himself. The sorcerer really did catch him – it wasn't an accomplice we were tracking, it was Merlin. He was the one who got shot by that arrow."

Mordred could feel the men's hostility radiating off them like heat. _I didn't mean for this to happen._

"And Morgana – " Arthur choked off the end of the sentence.

"Merlin is smart, Arthur, he'll have hidden somewhere. He's good at that." Percival's voice was reassuring, but even to him it sounded forced.

It was Merlin's blood strewn all over the stone.

"He'll still be here somewhere. Morgana was – " Percival paused, " – she was only carrying one body."

Arthur barely heard him. All he could do was stare at the red blade, one question pounding at his mind – whose blood was it? Had Merlin used it to get away? Or was it his blood coating the steel?

"We need to find him, now."

The look Arthur gave Mordred was one of pure disgust. "I hope for your sake he's still alive."

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, Merlin resurfaced.

He was staring up at the sky, the moon burning a hole through his vision. The world was shuddering. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched his breath condense in the air, the clouds the only sign of his own life. It was pretty, really.

He hadn't noticed the cold until then. The reason why the world was shuddering –it was because he was shivering, violently. Panic setting in, he tried to steady his breathing. In. out. He willed his legs to move, tried to bring them closer to his chest, but for some reason they wouldn't obey him. He couldn't feel anything at all.

He would die here, he realised suddenly. He would die here, and Arthur would never know. They would never find his body. Gaius would assume he was killed by Finna, and he wouldn't even have a body to mourn.

Terror taking a firm hold of his body, he did the only thing he could think of.

"_Dragorn. Ætstæl úre cnósl. Fultum!"_

His eyes glowed for a moment, but somehow he knew it wouldn't be enough.

* * *

Mordred was left to search on his own. It was unsurprising really - they all blamed him for Merlin's predicament, every single one of them. And that, to be honest, made him angry.

This was all Merlin's fault - if he hadn't wandered off, none of this would have happened, and Arthur wouldn't hate him. That's what got to him the most, really, the fact that the two people he admired above all others both hated him. Emrys, and now, Arthur.

_Emrys? _He called out with his mind again, walking slowly up the last flight of stairs. There were a thousand places in this tower for someone to hide, alive or dead. Mordred didn't want to find a body - he'd rather find him alive, or not at all. _Just answer me. Please._

If they didn't find Merlin, Mordred got the feeling that he would never be forgiven.

* * *

The silence pressed in on Merlin from all sides as he waited, his breath visibly slowing.

The dragon wasn't coming.

He'd left him alone.

Here, destiny would end.

_Arthur, help me._

Merlin didn't have the strength to cry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it took me so long to update! Exams, and Christmas, and the finale /sobs/ and everything just got in the way... but here it is!**_  
_

**Thanks for all the reviews, they mean alot to me :D**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

_Arthur, help me._

Mordred's head whipped around. That was Merlin – weak, barely there, but there was no mistaking that voice.

_Merlin, where are you?_

He called out with his mind, answering the way Merlin had asked the question, eyes scanning the dark room. A minute went past, then another. There was no answer.

He cursed silently.

This was the last room left in the tower – he could hear the knights on the lower levels getting more and more agitated as they found no sign of anyone at all, living or dead. But this was Merlin they were searching for – he _had_ to be here somewhere. That went without question. Mordred could still feel an echo of Merlin's magic in this room. It's path twisted, and it was rapidly diminishing, but if he could just get a hold of it …

Eyes closed, Mordred let his senses guide him. Slowly, he put one foot infront of the other, following the trail.

His head collided painfully with cold stone. Groaning, Mordred opened his eyes. He was in the furthest corner of the room, the place that even the moonlight couldn't reach. He could feel the magic leading him forwards, but there was nowhere to go – just a stone wall and piles of mould-ridden wood. There was nowhere for Merlin to hide here. Nowhere for anything to hide.

Mordred bit his lip angrily. This was it – they really had searched everywhere now, and Merlin simply wasn't here. It would be so much easier to accept if Mordred hadn't_ heard Merlin speak._

"Where are you?" he shouted angrily to the empty room, "I can't help you if you don't answer me!" Mordred stood there in the darkness, sword clenched in his fist, as the question was whispered from wall to wall in a chorus of anger and despair. He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one.

This wasn't fair. He leant forwards, cheek against the damp stone, and closed his eyes.

_I've killed Emrys_.

Mordred sighed, his breath misting in the air in front of his face. He'd hoped he would belong here – and he had, for a time. These men had become his brothers, of sorts, and he'd finally found a home.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes .

Not any more.

He stared blankly at the wall for a few moments, letting everything wash over him. He lost track of time. The knight's resentment, the lingering scent of Emrys' magic, the chill blowing across his face – it all blurred to nothing more than a background noise. He became empty, and that was when his magic took the opportunity to show him something he had missed.

A draught on his face. And it's significance.

Mordred looked up in surprise, his eyes taking a moment to focus. There, hidden behind a pile of ancient firewood and what may once have been a wardrobe, was a door. A half-open door, and the remnants of Emrys' magic.

A door that could only lead to the rooftop.

Mordred didn't hesitate.

* * *

"If he's not here," Gwaine growled, slamming his fist into the cracked stone, "then where is he?"

Arthur stood a few feet away, watching silently as Percival stepped forwards to put a calming hand on the man's shoulder. Gwaine tried to shrug him off, but he was never going to win in a fight of strength against Percival. There were more angry words, a few calm reprimands, then he sagged, deflated. "I'm not leaving without him. And I won't let him die."

Arthur understood the man perfectly. The fear in his chest had a hold of his heart now, and it tightened with every empty room they came to.

Not finding him at all is better than finding him dead, Elyan had said quietly, but was that really true? Arthur couldn't really deicide. They had no idea what condition Merlin was in, and Camelot was at least a full day's ride away, perhaps two – even if they found him, would they have enough time to treat him?

Almost without him noticing, Merlin had seeped into Arthur's life, establishing himself as a permanent presence that was always there when he was needed, even if Arthur would never admit it. In battle, Merlin never complained about being taken along – usually the complaints came when he wasn't brought, and Arthur had quickly learnt that having Merlin by his side brought him far more good luck than he had been subject to in the past. The rest of the group felt it too – Merlin was their good luck charm, their _friend. _They knew his heart was just as noble as theirs, and his resolve.

Which begged the question: why had Merlin been so adamant that he obtained the herbs for Gaius that night? Surely it could not be so important that he would risk his life over it. Although, Arthur thought with a slight smile, Merlin didn't seem to hold his own life in high regard, considering the amount of times he willingly offered it for Arthur's.

Gwaine and Percival were still conversing in low, heated voices. "If Mordred hadn't lied about letting him go –"

And that was what it came down to. Until now no one had vocalised it, not properly, but there was no doubt that everyone was thinking the same thing. _If Mordred had stopped him, or told us, then this wouldn't have happened._

Mordred is young, Arthur reasoned with himself, and eager for Merlin's acceptance. He hadn't missed the obvious distrust that Merlin had for the boy – which, in itself, threw up a whole number of other questions. Merlin was the one person who seemed to trust anyone, so this hatred of Mordred must have a reason behind it. In the end, Arthur had put it down to jealousy: Mordred was young and newly knighted, and had been readily accepted into the group. Merlin probably felt resentment towards the boy because he had never had that opportunity, even though time and again he had proved that he had the heart of a knight. It had never really occurred to Arthur to give Merlin a knighthood, he realised. Perhaps because he just didn't want things to change from the way they were now.

_If I die, will you call me a hero?_

There was no way Arthur could ever tell Merlin that they already considered him a hero at heart.

Arthur was roused from his musings by a shout from the floor above.

"I found him!"

Mordred's voice echoed down the stairs, loud and cracked. Gwaine's eyes widened, meeting the king with a gaze that Arthur was sure mirrored his own.

"Merlin," Arthur breathed, the beating of his heart suddenly magnified tenfold.

Gwaine nodded. The man was up the staircase before anyone else had even begun to move.

* * *

Mordred took three steps onto the rooftop and stopped. He could just make out the outline of a body, slumped a few feet away, face turned towards the sky. It was cold out here – cold enough that Mordred's breath condensed in clouds around him – but there was also something _wrong_ here_._

"Emrys?" he murmured slowly, voice barely more than a whisper. The relief that he had felt upon finding Merlin alive was quickly knotting in his stomach, turning to a thick black guilt that choked him where he stood. _Was_ Merlin alive?

Merlin just lay there, eyes staring, unseeing, at the sky.

Footsteps pounded up the stairway behind him, getting closer and closer. Mordred took a step forwards, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. "Can you hear me, Emrys?" Seconds passed, an eternity passed, but still nothing stirred –

– and then Gwaine pushed past, deliberately colliding with the Mordred's shoulder as he hurried forwards. Then he too stopped, just for a moment . "Goodness, Merlin," Gwaine whispered, trying to make out the details in the darkness. "You scared us, mate."

Mordred could almost pinpoint the second that Gwaine broke.

"Merlin?" Gwaine called again, panic in his voice this time. The boy didn't move. He rushed to Merlin's side on trembling legs, kneeling down beside his friend but unsure of exactly what to do. Merlin's hair was plastered to his head, his face covered in a pale sheen that glinted oddly in the moon light and looked far from healthy. There was a rip in his tunic as well, a small one, but from it grew an ugly, dark stain that spread across the front of his chest like a weed. Even now, Gwaine could see that it was a deep red, which was a bad sign.

"Come on mate, we need to get you out of here," he murmured, shaking the man's shoulders. Merlin was sweating even though his skin was as cold as the night around them, and just continued staring blankly through half-lidded eyes. Panic rose in Gwaine's throat, and he shook the man again, willing him to open his eyes, to respond – anything.

"Is he breathing?" Gwaine hadn't heard Arthur approach. The king knelt next to him, his face a picture of barely concealed concern. "Well?" Arthur asked sharply, worry evident in his voice.

"Yes," Gwaine answered, hand on the boy's chest. The breath was uneven, coming in stutters and occasional gasps, but there. "But he's so cold, and that wound –"

Arthur gently moved his servant towards him, trying to supress the despair that ran through him as he withdrew a red-stained hand. Gingerly, he ripped apart the remnants of the material surrounding the wound, cursing as he realised that fresh blood was still flowing. It was deep – a typical arrow wound that had been left to its own devices for too long.

Gwaine withdrew, his knees numb. Arthur cupped Merlin's face in is hand, turning it towards him.

"Merlin, I need you to wake up." His voice sounded rough, forced. Arthur swallowed thickly. He could feel Leon hovering somewhere behind him, knew they had to back inside, but they needed Merlin conscious if they were going to get anywhere safely. He tried again, using the obnoxious tone that Merlin hated so much. "For goodness sake, Merlin, after we put so much effort into finding you, the least you could do is help." Arthur searched for something to slow the bleeding – in the end, he ripped a strip off Merlin's shirt, bunching it up as best he could. His hand hovered over the wound, and silently he apologised for the pain he knew was about to come.

He slid a hand underneath Merlin's back, tipping him forwards, and with the other, pressed the fabric over the hole in his side. After a second, Merlin's eyelids fluttered open, accompanied by a small whimper.

"Shush, Merlin, it's okay," Arthur murmured gently, as the man looked up at him with unfocussed eyes clouded with pain. "We're here now. Though, you hid pretty well – we almost didn't find you, you idiot."

"Arthur?" Merlin blinked owlishly, trying to focus. Arthur smiled grimly in reply, letting out a small breath when Merlin managed a small attempt in return. King or not, seeing Merlin in such a helpless state after everything they'd been through tore something in his heart, and Arthur kept having to remind himself that the sorcerer who did this to him had already met their end.

"We need to get you to Gaius," Arthur said, almost apologetically. "Or at least out of the cold. Can you walk?"

Merlin made a small noise that Arthur took to be a laugh. "If you can get me off the ground," he rasped, "then, sure, why not?" The humour was short lived – every breath sent a shooting pain across Merlin's chest , and he broke off with a slight moan. He swallowed, letting his head tip back until his vision was met with the black of the night again.

"Don't you fall asleep on me," Arthur warned, slinging one of Merlin's arms around his shoulders. Merlin mumbled something incoherent, his eyes sliding half-shut again, and Arthur fought to keep the alarm from his voice. "Don't you dare, you lazy idiot," he growled, hauling the man to his feet. "Merlin, don't make me do all the work!"

"We'll make a fire," Leon said softly from somewhere behind him. Arthur cast a grateful glance in his direction. Gwaine, his face hard, slung Merlin's remaining arm around his shoulder with the air of someone who did not want to be questioned.

"We can't let him fall asleep," Arthur said gruffly, recalling what little he remembered of Gaius' advice about those who suffered from serious blood loss. "He might not wake up again."

The severity of the words settled heavily on the two of them. They could feel Merlin swaying between them, small shudders racking his body. Then, without warning, Merlin's full weight was suddenly on their shoulders as the man's legs buckled beneath him with a cry.

"Easy there," Gwaine said gently, repositioning the man's arm so that he remained upright. Merlin closed his eyes, trying to draw in shallow uneven breaths. "This situation seems familiar, doesn't it mate?" Gwaine chuckled, his voice full of false brightness, "It's like that time that I took you to the tavern and you ended up drinking far too much."

There was a half-hearted laugh from Merlin, which was comforting – at least he was still conscious. "You – " he offered quietly, " – _you _drank too much and started a barfight."

Gwaine let out a snort of derision. "I did not 'start' it," he said indignantly, "I merely offered help where it was needed."

"You called the man a cabbage-head."

No-one noticed Mordred standing in the darkness. Or rather, they were all preoccupied with other things, and found it in their best interest to ignore the person they considered to be the catalyst in this awful situation.

Mordred didn't move. He just stood there, watching their backs as they disappeared back into the tower. Slowly, he drew in a shaking breath, his eyes wet. Arthur didn't so much as glance his way.

All he had wanted was to make Emrys accept him, to make him happy. How could everything have gone so terribly wrong?


	6. Chapter 6

**Yes, it's been a month, I know. I'm sorry! But, Merlin ended and I cried and then ... well, I don't really have many excuses. But here's the next installment.**

**Enjoy, and review!**

* * *

They'd managed to get him down the stairs, barely. It would have been much easier if Merlin hadn't decided halfway down that his legs just wouldn't work anymore, and lurched headfirst down the stone steps – if not for the reflexes of the two men that held him, reflexes that came with years of training, Merlin probably wouldn't have seen the morning.

Arthur pushed the thought away irritably, and concentrated on other, more important, things.

Like the fact Merlin had fallen silent, and his lips had a bluish tinge to them that Arthur did not trust in the slightest.

Gwaine was still chattering away, an almost hysterical edge to his voice. "And Merlin, honestly, you should have seen her – she had the most gorgeous figure, and she gave me free rounds of ale! You hear that? Free rounds, all night! And then, after –"

"Stop, Gwaine." Arthur couldn't think. "No one wants to hear about that." Gwaine shot him a sheepish grin, gently tugging Merlin's arm to check he was still with them. Merlin murmured something incoherent in agreement.

They managed the last few steps with relative ease. Elyan and Leon had been true to their word, a small fire blazing in the centre of the room, casting odd shadows on the dusty walls. Arthur didn't doubt that Percival had been the one that had been doing most of the work, judging by the state of what had, the last time he'd been here, been a fully functioning _whole _wardrobe.

"It was a good night though," Gwaine muttered. Arthur didn't deem that worthy of a response.

Gingerly, they lay Merlin down by the fire, as close as they dared. The flames highlighted his already pale face, illuminating the pain that seemed to be etched into his skin.

"Here." Arthur knelt down, wrapping his cloak around Merlin's shuddering body. "You'd better stay awake, you hear me? We can't be having you dropping off."

"'m tired," Merlin slurred, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"You're always tired, you lazy idiot," Arthur said fondly, putting a hand to his forehead. It was ice cold, much colder than any living being should be. Trying to ignore the panic that rose in his throat, he smiled thinly, as Merlin's eyes searched out his own. "It's why I spend more mornings waking you up than you do waking me. Sometimes I think _I _would make a better servant than you do."

"'s sleeping 'fore you came," Merlin mumbled, eyes sliding half closed, "You prat."

Arthur breathed in again and again in an effort to calm himself. "Gwaine," he commanded, his voice strained even to his own ears, "You have first watch."

He could see the conflict that flashed across the man's face, as Gwaine bristled at the idea of leaving Merlin's side.

"If you think I'm –"

"First watch, Gwaine." Of all the things Arthur needed right now, Gwaine's boiling frustration was not one of them – the knight needed to cool down, and if that meant keeping him away from Merlin for a while, then so be it. Gwaine, however, did not agree.

"Arthur –" he growled, narrowing his eyes. Arthur met his gaze coolly, his face impassive.

"I need you on watch. If Morgana returns, we need to know."

Gwaine glared, but he was a knight now, and there were limits to how far he could push Arthur when he was like this. He knelt beside Merlin, pointedly pulling Arthur's cloak just that little bit tighter around the man's shoulders.

"You take care of him Princess." It was an order, not a request.

"Of course."

After a moment, Arthur turned to Percival. He didn't even need to speak – the man just nodded, and followed in Gwaine's footsteps.

* * *

Mordred stood just outside the doorway, waiting. He was used to this – the hiding in the shadows, the blending in, but he hadn't had to do it in so long, it felt strange. He'd hoped he would never have to do it again. Perhaps not.

He walked past Arthur, but the man didn't so much as look at him. Mordred didn't expect anything less. Among other things, the druids had taught him how to remain unseen – a skill that they had perfected, through necessity rather than whim. Being a hunted race taught you things.

There was a groan, a sharp intake of breath from the corner of the room. Arthur murmured something that Mordred couldn't make out – that he didn't want to make out. Merlin's – Emrys' – whimpers followed him as he descended the stairs, ringing in his ears even when Mordred logically knew he was out of earshot.

Mordred couldn't shake the thought that_ he_ had done this. He was the one responsible for the magical community's only saviour laying in a cold, abandoned room, his lifeblood staining the stairs. Perhaps he and Morgana were more alike than he would have liked to think.

_No. _Mordred shook his head, trying to shake the thought from his head. He would never be like her – once she had a good heart, but now? Now she was twisted by hatred and a lust for revenge, killing in the name of the old religion. Mordred didn't want that. He yearned for a time when magic was accepted once more and he no longer had to hide his true identity, but what he didn't require was the rest of the kingdom to pay for Uther's sins, much less the men who had accepted him so readily into their brotherhood.

He had loved Emrys like a brother, more than willing to do anything he asked, yet the man had pushed him away time and again. Merlin didn't do that without good reason – Mordred was beginning to think that may be Merlin knew more than he was letting on. Things about Mordred that even Mordred himself didn't know.

That thought scared him.

He let out a scream of frustration. No one heard him.

* * *

Gently rolling Merlin towards him, Arthur swallowed thickly. His servant's tunic was crusty beneath his fingers, the rust-red blossoming outwards like a sickness that couldn't be cured. The fabric he'd used to try and staunch the wound had already become stained that dark colour that Arthur was beginning to hate so much, and was practically fused to Merlin's skin by dried blood. It was better to tear it off in one go than prolong the pain by removing it bit by bit, that much he knew.

"I need to have a look at it," Arthur said, almost apologetically.

Merlin inhaled sharply.

Arthur's fingers gingerly parted the fraying corners of Merlin's tunic, trying to get to the newly exposed skin. He could hear Leon behind him, rummaging through their packs to try and find the meagre supplies they had to treat something like this. Efficient as ever, he thought with a wry smile.

The wound itself was deep, but thankfully lacked the angry red colour that screamed infection. What concerned Arthur the most was the fact that it still seemed to be weeping, after all this time – if what Mordred had said was true, then the wound wouldn't stop bleeding any time soon, either. Merlin was already a deathly pale – there was only so much blood one man could lose.

"It's only blood loss," Leon commented softly, as he appeared at Arthur's side. "Nothing else. That, at least, is something to be thankful for."

Somehow, Arthur still couldn't bring himself to be thankful for that. Not when Merlin lay in front of him, struggling for breath.

"I don't know how we'll stop the bleeding, but it needs to be cleaned. Do you want me to –"

"No." Arthur's tone was much firmer than he felt. "I'll do it."

If Leon thought there was anything odd with this, he didn't voice his opinion. Once there was a time that Leon would have scoffed at the idea of the King attending to a mere servant, much more when that king was _Arthur, _but that time had passed. He knew by now that Merlin's life was equal to that of any knight of the realm, and although there was still a part of him that objected to this abandon of protocol, he also understood why it was so.

He nodded, withdrawing. "Sire."

Arthur picked up the rag Leon had left, turning over the flimsy material in his hand. He doubted this would be enough to ward off infection on its own. He sighed, lips drawn tight.

"I'll get it cleaned up," Arthur murmured, not quite sure whom he was addressing "and then you can tell us why you sneaked off in the first place." Drawing his blade, he began to rip through the tunic.

Merlin groaned half-heartedly. "'m already gonna have one scar, don't want 'nother."

"I'm glad you have such faith in my abilities," Arthur retorted, his voice strained. He studiously ignored the small whimpering noises that Merlin tried his best to hide when the rough material pulled at raw skin, slipping back into the insults that were so familiar to him. "I don't know what you're making such a fuss about."

"'d like to see you –"

His hands most certainly _did not _shake when Merlin's breath hitched, trailing off mid-sentence. Or when his servant suddenly became stiff and still. "Merlin?"

_No. Not now._

Arthur swallowed down a curse. Grasping Merlin by the shoulders, he shook him carefully, looking for _some_ sign of recognition. Nothing.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. Merlin couldn't have –

"Merlin, don't you dare."

The pounding of his own heart was suddenly much too loud in his own hears. With trembling fingers, he searched Merlin's neck, trying to locate a pulse.

Merlin had always been there, even when he shouldn't have been. Merlin was the lucky one – he always got out alive, no matter what. They couldn't lose Merlin, not like this – it just didn't seem right. Merlin didn't deserve to die at a sorcerer's hand, left alone in the cold for far too long with a wound that refused to heal. Not only a slow and painful death, but a lonely one too.

_Please, you idiot._

After what seemed like an eternity, Arthur managed to find a small, weak beat underneath the cool skin. It was much weaker than normal, and worryingly erratic, but it was _there_, and right now that was all that mattered.

"Gods Merlin, don't do that to me." He was using that commanding tone again, the one that Merlin hated. Arthur let out a shaky breath, feeling slightly sick with relief. He sat back on his heels, dragging a bloodied hand through his hair. "Don't ever do that again."

Merlin's head had fallen to the side, closed eyelids turned towards the flames of the fire. He looked at ease for the first time since they had found him, and Arthur simply didn't have the heart to try and wake him again. After all, there was nothing more he could do for him – they simply didn't have the supplies or the knowledge to treat a magical wound such as this. What they needed was Gaius, but he was back in Camelot, and Camelot was a day's ride away.

"Why must you always be so difficult?" Arthur murmured. He got no answer.

He looked around the deserted room, suddenly thankful that no one had been there to witness his … display of weakness. He sat for a moment, the dull thrum of conversation from the floor below mingling with Merlin's barely-there breaths. The man's lips were still tinted that worrying shade of blue.

After going to such lengths to find him, the least the ungrateful fool could do would be to last the night.

* * *

It hurt. Of course it did, it always hurt.

Merlin scrunched his eyes up against the pain, willed it to go away like it had before, but it didn't. It just mixed in with the bright light and the sudden warmth and Arthur's voice and he just wanted it to stop.

It hurt to breathe, and he was so tired. May be if he just _didn't_…

Then suddenly, nothing hurt quite so much anymore. It was almost like slipping underwater, except he was pretty sure there wasn't any water, and he could still hear Arthur grumbling faintly in the distance. He sounded rather angry. He was always angry.

_But despite all that, Arthur came,_ Merlin thought contentedly, as he finally lost his grip on consciousness. _Like he always does._

* * *

Gwaine and Percival were just as oblivious to Mordred's presence as Arthur had been.

" – if Arthur thinks that I'm just going to let Merlin die here, he's got another thing coming." Gwaine was still fuming, but the anger had given way to a quieter emotion – a desperate fear for Merlin's life, just as potent.

"He cares for Merlin just as you do," Percival pointed out, the voice of reason. "You know he would not let him die, not if there was anything that could be done to save him."

"We're a day's ride from Camelot," Gwaine groaned, his voice breaking. "There's not guarantee that he'll last the night."

"He's resilient."

There was a lull in the conversation, and Mordred could feel the despair that hung in the air around them. He had no idea why Merlin meant so much to Gwaine - a man who made friends easily, but never let them get too close. Unless they were female, or had a large supply of ale.

"I just … feel guilty." Gwaine's voice was hesitant, a rare moment when the bravado was dropped and the real man emerged. "After Arthur became King, we've all been busy with all those 'knightly duties' that he assigns us that I never see him any more. I brush him off. He's meant to be my friend, and I have … I've let him down." He sighed, kicking at the worn stone. "I never wanted to be a knight."

There was another pause.

"If Mordred hadn't let him go –"

"It wasn't Mordred's fault." Percival's voice was firm. "You know that Merlin knows how to twist people's arms if he's intent on getting a job done. Mordred just did what he thought was right."

And, suddenly, Mordred realised that there _was_ a way he could fix this.

Not waiting to hear any more, he slipped off into the night, a single goal in mind. One that would regain the knight's trust and, perhaps, show Emrys once and for all that their intentions were one and the same. A chance at redemption.


End file.
